Drowning Gods
by cynicalspring
Summary: Harry's occlumency lessons come to an abrupt end, and Hermoine decides to take it upon herself to fix the situation. OOTP somewhat AU. Very short (like 2 - 3 chapters maybe), and will get dark.


Anyone passing her in the halls would have thought her out of her tree. Stomping rather than walking, one hand gesticulating wildly, while the other hiked up her student robes so she didn't trip on the hem, and muttering to herself in what appeared to be a one-sided argument. Hermoine was somewhere between livid and desperate.

Harry had come back earlier that evening, wild eyed and disheveled, conspicuously announcing the end of his occlumency lessons. When pressed for details he had just shrugged and responded "He said I had the basics down" in non-committal fashion. She cocked an eyebrow at her friend's obvious lie, but let the matter rest for the moment. Something had happened, and she would fix it. She would beg professor Snape to continue their lessons if she had to.

And that's how she found herself heading down to the dungeons a few minutes later. She gave her old standby excuse of needing a book from the library (really, how many times were they going to fall for that one?) and as she made her way down the halls began to prepare herself mentally for a discussion-turned-argument, imagining the rebuttals the surly professor would undoubtedly have for every point she made. It wasn't long before she looked every bit the mental patient, playing out an imaginary fight on her way down to the potions classroom.

Even in her imagination that man always managed to ruffle her proverbial feathers, though she always seemed to find herself falling short in her arguments. Not for lack of wit, knowledge, or moral stance, but because something about him just made her flustered. The way he flung cruel barbs about with ease as if he were tossing candy in a parade; the utterly ridiculous and overblown romantic prose he would sometimes use when trying to be especially dramatic; the way he could stare and mentally pin you down mid-sentence with his eyes; and mostly the intense way he approached his teaching methods, intolerant of any ineptitude he felt his students so often displayed.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the arguments, from an academic standpoint, but every time she tried to go toe-to-toe with Snape she always wound up equal parts flabbergasted, humiliated, and awe-struck. When she'd think back on their encounters to examine exactly how they went wrong she'd be left with niggling thoughts of belated come-backs and what-ifs, along with a peculiar sensation she could only describe as the winding of a spring in her abdomen and chest that made her pulse quicken and face flush…. Remembering herself, she'd cut off that train of thought before it even left the station, stuffing those feelings as far below everything she could, determined to not examine them further.

It was moot anyway, their past arguments. She wouldn't let this discussion go downhill. It was too important. She was going to win this one, and he was going to teach Harry to occlude, even if it killed her in the process.

Standing outside his office door, she took a few deep breaths to steel her nerves, took one last inventory of her thoughts, and raised her hand to knock. Before she even had the chance the door flew open, almost knocking her flat on her back in a flurry of student robes. She managed to catch and steady herself on the corner of a student desk and took stock of the situation. Professor Snape stood in the doorway of his office, wild eyed with a pained yet exhausted expression, errant strands of his lank hair plastered across his face with a mixture of sweat and what Hermoine suspected were tears, if his puffy bloodshot eyes were any indication. Her presence had obviously caught him off guard, and for a moment all he could do was stand there and stare, bracing himself on the cold stone doorframe. She took the opportunity and glanced around him through to his office. There were shards of shattered glass everywhere, an overturned lab table, and the splintered remains of what she assumed were several wooden lab stools, some of which were dissolving away into oblivion and smoke in the bubbling acrid remains of a half brewed potion, now a puddle on the floor.

"Why are you here Miss Granger? To _gloat_ is it?" She tore her eyes from the mess in the office and met her professor's eyes, filled with anger and something that looked a bit like hurt. "Your insipid acquaintance couldn't help but open his mouth and now you are here to gawk at the pathetic creature you believe me to be, because if that is the case, you insufferable trollip, you can pick your jaw up off the floor and sod off."

Hermoine tried to say something in her defense but found herself stammering over her words. "N-no… I was just…"

He advanced on her slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, something predatory in the way he was standing.

"Just _what_, girl?! If you've got something to say, say it, otherwise stop wasting my time with your moronic stuttering and bugger. off." At the last word he spoke she found herself face to face with Snape, trapped between him and the desk.

Her eyes searched his countenance as her mind raced… raced for something to say, for a way to gain control of the situation. He was close. Too close. She could feel his breath on her face, see the creases in the corner of his eyes and brow, and she could smell him. She could smell the sweat on his robes mixed with the smoke from the spilled potion, and under that she could smell sandalwood and cloves, fresh parchment and ink, and leather. It was making her head swim, and before she knew what she was doing she was reaching for him. "Professor…" she whispered with a small woosh of air from a breath she didn't realize she was holding in as her fingers made contact brushing gently up along his jaw line and her thumb grazing his cheek, tingling from the feel of stubble just making itself known. "Tell me what happened…"

Snape stood frozen on the spot, eyes wide in shock, locked in Hermoine's worried gaze her hand still gently caressing the side of his face. The intimacy and tenderness of her small gesture caused something inside him to snap. He drew in a shuddering breath, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and leaned into her touch, before the weight of his regret and anguish dragged him to his knees before her, burying his face in the midriff of her school robes, clinging to the small of her back and sobbing.

Hermoine was at a loss, and near hyperventilating besides. Her formidable potions professor, whom she was quite sure disliked her immensely, reduced and humbled into an emotional wreck on his knees before her, seeking comfort she didn't quite know how to give him. She lowered her other hand to his head and gently raked her fingers repeatedly through his fine, albeit limp, hair as his, and by proxy her, body was racked with sobs. "It's going to be ok, Professor. It'll all be ok." She said in a hushed voice her other hand still on his face, as she moved her fingertips to gently rub the surprisingly soft skin on the side of his neck. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I-I'm here if you need me. I won't tell anyone… promise…" At that he seemed to compose himself somewhat and sniffling, he turned his face so his ear was resting against her stomach. She was fairly certain he could hear her still racing heartbeat, and for some reason that made it beat faster, and her breathing was becoming heavy. He slowly looked up at her, his face a blotchy unreadable mask, and she put both hands on the sides of his face, his eyes searching hers for something…. her mind was swimming, foggy. The whole situation seemed so ridiculously surreal, as if it were a dream and she was watching from the outside.

"This isn't real, this _can't_ be real, it's_ not_ real" The mantra repeating itself in her head. She was barely aware of Snape's hands moving from the small of her back to her hips, as he gently pulled her down meet him, face to face, both of them now kneeling on the floor, her hands and forearms flat against his chest. All she could do was stare at his face and remember to breathe as she felt the heated trails his fingertips left as he ghosted them up her arms and over her shoulders. He let his left hand continue to her face, gently brushing his thumb across her bottom lip as he used his right hand to guide her arms around his neck, looking at her as if he were in a daze, and then, without warning, he crushed his lips to hers.


End file.
